


Incentive

by FirePony16



Category: Ant-Man (2015), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ant-Man (2015) Post-Credits Scene, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Bucky Barnes Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen, POST Ant-Man, Post CATWS, Steve Rogers Feels, To the end of the line, Written before CA: Civil War and its trailer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirePony16/pseuds/FirePony16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Explores how Bucky was trapped to how he might be freed with Steve and Sam's help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> This was based solely on the end-credit scene in Ant-man and Sebastian Stan mentioning that Bucky didn’t trap himself in the vise. I don't know if this will be compliment with Captain America: Civil War.
> 
> Special thanks to Elioma for beta reading.

Day 0, 9pm

Bucky woke groggy and annoyed. His ribs strung when he took a deep breath. Something was digging in the flesh of his wrist while the damaged edges from metal panels on his left arm scrapped against his flesh arm. Blood leaked down the side of his face and his shaggy hair hung in front of his eyes. He blinked a few times, trying to clear them. His head was pounding from a slight ache, a familiar pain from drugs that Hydra had often used to knock him out.

The last thing he remembered was an ambush from more than a dozen hydra agents. What had started as a car chase led to being cornered in an abandoned building that looked like it needed demolished soon and therefore clear of civilians. He hadn’t cared about civilians _before_ , unless Hydra demanded no witnesses. He was weary of them now, of who might be lurking in the shadows around the next corner and of hurting anyone who hadn’t warranted it.

He had taken out several agents before one of them had taken him down with a full tackle as another had struck him with a stupid needle.

How he hated needles.

Currently he was slumped against some kind of machine with his hands zip tied together. He snorted; they must be scraping the bottom of the barrel. But he dared not question the sense his attackers had for thinking a bit of plastic could hold him.

And just as he became aware of several agents holding (him) beside the machine and was about to retaliate, something clamped down on the forearm of his left arm and dug in with a vicious bite. Whatever it was, it was agitating the synthetic nerves in his metal man. He hissed in pain.

Suddenly Bucky was clear headed and snapped the zip tie like a twig. He swung at his attackers with a knife from his boot, managing to give one a shallow slice to the gut and to another a graze to the side. Only to be suddenly dazed when the only uninjured agent hit him with a metal bar causing the soldier to drop his knife.

The agent he had gotten in the side kicked his knife away. The soldier lunged for it only to stumble back against the machine. One agent – the one who had clamped the machine onto the prosthetic arm - smirked before using the metal bar to bash the controls and pry pieces off, insuring that the machine was locked solid.

“Not going away this time,” the agent muttered as he worked. He was an older man in his forties. He had scars on his face that disappeared into his hairline

The other two tended to their wounds, a younger man whose side was slick with red was digging through some bag for medical supplies one handed. His other hand was pressed against his side. The other, a woman, bounced back and forth from watching the young man search and watching the last agent and the soldier by the machine which by now Bucky figured was some kind of old vise. She at least was weary but alert. The male agents were too focused on their tasks.

The soldier inched his free hand closer to the inside of his left boot, it was all about timing now.

“Agent Jackson, call for backup,” the older man had finished his destruction now, “Let them know we have the Asset secured and we are down to three agents.”

“Yes sir,” she said before pulling out a cell phone. Bucky had loosened the ties of his boot by now and was reaching for his last two knives but he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

That was until Bucky noticed that the young man was loading a handgun now, having patched himself up, and an attack plan formed. Patience and silence would be the key.

“Hello ma’am, this is Agent Jackson. Yes, the Asset is secured. Only Agent Kibbs, Agent Beck, and I are left.” A pause, listening. “We understand, ma’am. Three days? But ma’am- Yes, ma’am. No, no, we can wait if we need to. The Winter Soldier wouldn’t be able to escape.”

Bucky smirked for a moment as he pulled out one of his knives and adjusted his grip on the handle.

The male agents were watching Jackson as her conversation ended. Bottom of the barrel, indeed.

“Well?” implored the older man. He must be the leader.

“It’ll take about two days to gather enough backup to move the Asset to the new base and then another day for them to get here, she said about 8pm on Friday.”

Her response was met with outrage. The moment to strike was inching closer and closer.

The young man stomped over to the woman, “There were fifteen of us. First we lost some in the car chase and then the rest just trying to corner him. This is the Winter Soldier we are talkin about! Three freakin days, unbelievable!”

“I know, Beck, I was there so shut up and get out of my face!” the woman growled back and pushed the young man away only for Beck to stumble back a step too far.

The soldier stabbed the young man’s spinal cord and then kicked the young agent with enough force to send Beck flying into Jackson. But not before the young man had dropped the gun within Bucky’s grabbing range. The second knife went straight into the heart of the old man, Kibbs.

While Jackson was pushing Beck off, Bucky reached out with his foot to drag the gun closer. And just as Jackson stood grabbing for her gun, she dropped again with a bullet in her brain.

After putting a few bullets in Beck, Bucky collapsed against the vise, the gun held loose in his hand and laughed. Hope and confidence glowed warming in his chest.

Three days, that should be plenty of time for him.

~*~

Day 0, 11:37pm

So far no amount of struggling had helped Bucky pull his arm free. He couldn’t reach anything sturdy to pry the clamps of the vise off. And the more and more he tried to pull free, the more and more the pain increased.

He managed to drag the agents’ bag over with his foot like he had with the gun but found nothing useful but a cell phone, probably the young man’s. It’s battery was starting to get low by the time he figured out the 4-digit number password, having used the smudged screen for clues. He changed the password to ‘2278’ for Capt. and turned it off to save the battery.

He had three days and vowed to fight for his freedom in every second of it.

~*~

Day 1, 11:56 pm

His confidence had diminished by midday and his hope was following close behind. Bucky had spent the day trying to free himself, but every attempt had failed. The constant pain was sapping away his energy faster than his hunger. He rechecked that Hydra agent’s bag over and over for anything he could use, only to end with empty results every time.

His back and feet ached from standing. If he sat on the ground it hurt where metal and flesh met.

He couldn’t do this alone. He needed help and he knew he had to be careful of who he asked. While Hydra was scattered like flies, they still had heads to fall back on.

He pulled off his boot and slid a small card from under the pad in his shoe. The card had once been a pristine white with a retirement house’s info on one side. It was the one were Agent Peggy Carter now resided. Steve Rogers’ number was written on the back in Peggy’s elegant handwriting. He had visited during one of her good days a couple months back when he had been still trying to piece himself back together.

Well, correction. He had visited during the night and had been surprised to find Peggy still awake and alert. Almost like she had been waiting.

‘ _He misses you_.’ It was the first thing she had said to him and then the last as he had left via the window.

Bucky had known he hadn’t been ready to face Steve then and he didn’t know if he was ready to face him now.

But he only had two days left. He had to choose. He would have to trust that the end of the line wasn’t after Steve found him.


	2. Finding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos, hope you all continue to enjoy.

Day 2, 6am- New York

The call came as the light of dawn began to stretch across the sky. Brilliant shades of pink and orange grew brighter and the songs of early morning gained strength. The playful melody of Steve Rogers’ ringtone halted his run around the new Avengers’ compound. He could still feel the icy claws of his most recent nightmare despite his early start.

After a quick glance at the caller id- _number unknown_ \- Steve answered.

“Hello?” he asked, his voice joining the soft music of the waking day.

“Steve…” a weak voice answered, hoarse from little use.

“Buck? What-”

“Latitude, 42.380133. Longitude, -83.028633. Second floor. Don’t know how much longer-”

“I’m on my way, Buck. Just hold on.”

“Hurr-” the call dropped.

He quickly tried to redial, only -

“This is Thomas Beck; please a message after the beep.”

Steve ended the call with a surprised frown.

_Thomas Beck?_ He silently wondered how Bucky had gotten the phone and pulled up the internet on his own phone to search the coordinates before dashing back to the base.

There was no time to waste.

~*~

Day 2, 6:15am

Little was known about Steve’s search for the Winter Soldier. The Soldier’s real identity was still hidden in shadows while his part in Hydra’s crimes was not. There were many who wanted to hold the assassin responsible. But the manhunt for the Soldier was mostly scattered attempts that only had reports that he was a sniper with a metal arm.

Steve walked calmly and directly to his quarters; along the way he grabbed water, food, a med pack here, and other things he might need there. He folded them away in his gym duffle.

He nodded his hellos, acted as normal as possible. No need to raise attention to an unplanned trip. No need for curious eyes to follow him. He would talk to Natasha before he left. She would understand.

~*~                                                                                        

Day 2, 6:45am

He found Natasha warming up in the gym. She must have sensed his unease since she frowned slightly and paused in her stretches.

“Rogers?” a mix of a greeting and a question. Calm, collected, curious. A few other agents were in the gym as well, some exercising, some practice fighting. But they pay no mind to the senior Avengers, this was a normal occurrence.

“ _He_ called. He needs me. I’m heading out after I pack the bike. Cover for me?” he kept his voice low and his posture relaxed.

“Of course but are you sure this isn’t a trap?”

Steve sighed, “No.”

He leaned back against the mirror, looking down at his feet. “This is the first time he’s reached out and I can’t do nothing.”

Natasha joined his side, facing him with her arm resting on the rail along the mirror wall.

“And after you help him?” she asked after a moment.

Steve looked over at her, meeting her eyes.

“Offer my support even if it means I come back alone.”

~*~

Day 2, 7am

It was much later that Natasha could be found atop the roof. She watched as the roar of his motorcycle faded into the distance. They had decided that if he was missed by anyone, the story would be that the Captain was checking out the recent incident in San Francisco even though that duty had been assigned to Sharon Carter.

“Удачи, Rogers.” _Good luck._

~*~

Day 2, 7:30am

He barely stopped as he travelled from upstate New York. His path long and winding, just another traveler headed west. He was barely able to keep to the speed limits, silently wishing he could’ve gotten a plane ride instead. But this would have to make do.

It was just before noon when he started to skirt around the southern end of Lake Erie.

“Almost there, Bucky,” he murmured but his words were lost to the wind.

~*~

Day 2, 4pm

Steve hid his bike between the thickest vegetation and the abandoned building that the coordinates had directed him to.

The building was a multi-part structure. Walls that weren’t covered with graffiti were covered in moss. It was a long place, taking up a few blocks. Walking bridges were still in place over a couple of roads. It had a multitude of shattered windows and frankly it didn’t look like it would stay structurally sound in a few months’ time. The fact that the roof was still there was a wonder in itself.

There wasn’t even a fence to bypass. Finding armored cars with tinted windshields close by was troubling. They were hidden and recently abandoned, tracks in the mud fresh, untouched by vandals, even the keys still in the ignition of one even though the building hadn’t been used in decades.

The concealed shield on his back comforted him as he quietly reached the second floor via a very rusty fire escape. He paused to listen every once in a while for the owners of the deserted cars. He could faintly smell the stench of death but who knew if it was just a dead animal or human. He bit his lip in worry for Bucky but travelled on. He was careful not to step in any broken glass and the litter that nearly covered every inch of the ground. It made for slow going but at least the element of surprise would stay on his side.

As he neared the exact point of the coordinates, he could hear ragged breathing and the faint scraping sound of machinery.

Someone was here, maybe Bucky?

He paused to slip the shield out of its cover. The weight of the hidden gun became more pronounced against his lower back. Just in case.

As he crept closer, the breathing quieted. So soft, it was barely a whisper.

Across the room and around a wall, Steve was met with a graphic sight.

Dead men littered the room like discarded ragdolls. The odor of mold, litter, and earth didn’t do much to cover the smell of them. He looked for anyone that could be Bucky first before he faintly wondered if one of them was a Thomas Beck. The cool nights of spring may have helped some.

It could easily be said that they had been dead for a few days.

His eyes were drawn to the Hydra insignia upon their armbands.

Ready to use the shield at a moment’s notice and his boots sending spent brass rounds clinking against broken glass, Steve weaved his way around the bodies to a small adjacent room where the breathing had become ragged and frantic. The scraping of metal was loud and piercing.

“Bucky?” he chanced calling out, forgoing the last of his stealth.

The noise stilled before…

“Steve?” it was so weak yet full of relief.

A spark of hope glittered within him as Steve quickened his pace.

And then there Bucky was with dried blood caked on his face, his metal arm was trapped in some kind of vise, and looking so worn out and exhausted.

He was half on his knees and half standing due to his trapped limb. He looked like he could pass out any minute. In his right hand was a silver revolver. It was held loose in his fingers until Steve tried to rush to his old friend’s side. Three more bodies were toppled near him.

Steve stopped a couple feet away when Bucky wildly raised the gun at him. When Steve gently placed his shield and duffle bag full of supplies on the floor and raised his hands in surrender, Bucky removed his finger from the trigger and lowered it to point it at the ground.

The hard glare from the trapped man was unnerving.

Steve carefully disarmed his own handgun and set it by the shield before he walked forward and picked up an old wooden crate and placed it by Bucky for the trapped man to sit on. Wary, like a cautious injured animal, Bucky allowed it while he watched with a great intensity.

While he kept an eye on Bucky, Steve inspected the trapped limb and the machine that held it. The arm was dented and it creaked when it was moved. Some of the metal panels were cracked, missing, or chipped. It was marred with black and scratches but luckily it must be rust resistant despite its poor condition.

“Oh Buck,” he murmured under his breath, shaking his head. He faced his old friend and shifted the bag closer to them.

“I didn’t know what to bring… I have a first aid kit, some food and wat-.”

Bucky suddenly dove towards the duffle bag after abruptly dropping the revolver, only to groan at the jarring of his arm. The angle prevented him from grabbing the bag.

Steve leaped back before moving forward again, worried.

“Easy Buck, until we can get you out of that thing, you’re going need to be careful, okay?”

Bucky nodded weakly, winded, as Steve offered him an opened bottle of water.

As Bucky sipped at the water greedily, Steve picked up the discarded revolver, a Smith and Wesson 9mm, and checked the action of the handgun only to find it empty of any ammunition. He set it to the side and dug in his bag for some food. He produced a couple protein bars, a bit of fruit, and two MREs. He put them within easy reach so he could start with the first-aid.

“Are you hurt?” Steve asked as Bucky begun devouring the food.

The trapped man paused mid-chew and looked from the arm to the super soldier before he shook his head, waving his long brown locks as he did.

“Buck, you have blood on your face, you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I’ll live, Rogers,” Bucky gruffed out, “most of it isn’t mine.” He finished with a meaningful look at the bodies out in the other room.

“Does that hurt?” Steve asked, eyeing the trapped prosthetic arm.

Bucky looked from the man before him to the metal arm. The fingers curled for a moment, creaking and shrieking in protest at the movement.

“Some,” he answered before he finished the protein bars, no crumbs to be spared.

“Is there any more of Hydra around?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Steve cursed under his breath and set the bag beside Bucky. He started to pull at the clamps, but the angle was bad and Steve couldn’t get enough leverage to free the arm without getting in Bucky’s space.

When Steve tried to use the shield to pry open the vise, the pain had Bucky screaming. And when he pulled the shield free again, the clamps dug deeper.

Destroying the vise was out of the question, the vibrations set off sensors in the arm and those sensors were somehow connected to Bucky’s nervous system. Plus Steve could tell Bucky had already tried that with the pieces of the vise lying around him.

So much time was wasted on failed attempts to free Bucky. Steve was narrowly focused on his task to help his friend, only becoming more and more frustrated as hours ticked by.


	3. Backup

Day 2, 7 pm

“Steve, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not leaving you here, Buck.”

“I don’t know how you found me, Punk, but ya gotta get outta here before they come back.”

“Bucky?”

“They’ll kill you, Steve. Ya gotta leave me; you gotta look out for my folks and my sisters. Take care of them. Gotta keep battling bullies without me. But not this fight, they’ll tear you apart. From the inside out. Please, Steve,” the desperation in his old friend’s voice nearly broke the super-soldier.

Steve chanced going up to Bucky and kneeling before him. He put a gentle hand on his friend’s flesh shoulder and pushed back hair from his friend’s face with his other. He swallowed the sick feeling of where Bucky’s head might be at, currently locked in the 1940s. Pre-fall by his best guess.

“I’m not leavin here without you, pal. You ‘member what ya told me after Ma died.”

Bucky only looked up at him, his sad blue eyes filled with pain and delusion.

“To the end of the line, Buck. You meant it and now I mean it. I lost you twice before. Not going to keep the habit.”

Tears started to fill his friend’s eyes, “I’m scared, Steve, I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to forget.”

Carefully Steve hugged Bucky, mindful of his metal shoulder and arm. The other tensed at first before wrapping his arm around Steve.

“I won’t leave you, Buck. Not without a fight,” Steve vowed carefully and sincerely while silently seeking comfort in his old friend’s embrace. He couldn’t do this on his own.

It was time to call for backup.

~*~

Day 2, 7:37pm

“Sam?”

“Oh, hey Cap, where did ya disappear-”

“I found him, Sam,” Steve slumped against the wall a little while later. Bucky had reverted to hostility again after Steve had tried to pry one of the clamps off only to nearly get a knife in his gut for his troubles, “I found him and oh god...”

“Steve? What’s wrong? What happened? You hurt? He hurt? Talk to me Cap,” demanded Sam’s urgent voice.

“We’re okay. It’s his arm, his arm… it’s caught… I can’t get him out of it.”

“The metal one? What’s going on?”

“Some Hydra agents must have trapped him in some kind of vise. I tried to free him but- he’s in bad shape, he’s delirious. I gave him water and a bit of food but-”

“Tell me where I need to be.”

“5953 Concord Ave, Detroit, Michigan. There’s a fire escape across from Medbury Street along Concord.”

“Be there in a jiff.”

Steve pocketed his phone as he turned to gaze at Bucky and in his ever weakening state. He swallowed down his tears and helplessness. He sat close to his old friend and began to tell stories from their childhood to keep Bucky calm. To pass the time Sam would take to get here.

“Remember when we first became friends in that alley fight behind the bakery?” It didn’t matter if Bucky could or not, Steve continued on with his stories.

~*~

Day 2, 9pm

It was dark out now and for the last few hours Steve had been anxiously pacing and scouting the area, careful not to drift too far from Bucky, whose condition was going downhill at a steady rate despite the aid Steve had been able to give to his trapped friend.

Bucky could barely find the energy to talk and every once in a while he would weakly pull at the arm when he thought Steve wasn’t looking. Steve had asked him not to in case Bucky seriously injured himself.

Steve heard Sam before he saw the flyer. He saw Bucky tense up and shake a little when they heard Sam mumble to himself as the flyer ungracefully made his way to them.

“It’s okay, Bucky, Sam’s a friend,” Steve whispered softly from where he had been pacing, “remember Sam the flyer?”

But Bucky just stared blankly in the direction Sam was and shivered.

~*~

Day 2, 9:05pm

Sam called out to Steve before he entered the room, giving a solid verbal warning to both super-soldiers just in case. A trapped Bucky Barnes, looking worse for wear, shifted from where he was sitting by a large rusty machine. He moved sluggishly and stiff and Sam silently vowed to himself that he would just help not because Steve had asked but because this ragged man before him needed it.

A short glance around and Sam spotted Steve near a wall where the soldier’s shield was leaned against it.

Steve himself looked worn and had oily stains on his clothes. Maybe from the vise machine? Highly possible if Barnes allowed him close enough.

“This would have been a lot easier a week ago,” Sam said softly.

Steve’s eyes were on the vise, he was good at holding on to the slimmest bit of hope. “If we call Tony-”

“Nah, he won’t believe us,” Sam replied with a hit of annoyance at the billionaire.

“Even if he did-”

“Who knows if the accords would let him help…”

“We’re on our own,” Steve’s voice didn’t break and Sam silently wondered if it had before he had arrived. And Sam didn’t want to be the one who cut the last of Captain America’s hope out.

But then an idea started to form.

“Maybe not,” Sam offered hesitant at first. “I know a guy.”

Only to have Steve glance at him, unsure.

“A while back, a new _superhero_ popped up. He can literally shrink to the size of an ant. He might be able to give a different point of view on what’s keeping Barnes’ arm locked in that thing.”

The look of uncertainty grew on Steve’s face.

“Is he trustworthy?”

“I’ve talked to him on several occasions. I think he is.”

“Call him.”

So Sam called his contract and explained the situation and the need for discretion.

Steve silently wondered if Sam should warn the new hero about just who he would be helping but decided Sam knew what he was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact- 5953 Concord Ave, Detroit, Michigan (Packard Automotive Plant) is a real place.
> 
> About one day left until Hydra comes, will Steve and Sam be able to free Bucky with Scott's help in time? Stay tune :)


	4. Freedom?

Day 3, 8:45am

It took the whole night for Scott Lang aka Ant-man to arrive in the morning. Sam met up with him out on the street first. Steve could just barely hear them talking as they made their way into the building. Bucky stiffened once they reached the second floor. It wasn’t hard to hear them. You have to go out of your way to not make any noise, with all the broken glass and trash.

“It’s okay Bucky, just Sam and a friend. Together we are going to get you out of here,” Steve said gently, he just barely stopped himself from reaching out and brushing Bucky’s hair out of his face.

The weary man was just hanging his head, his eyes closed. If not for him sitting up and his loud ragged breathing, Steve would have thought his old friend unconscious.

Steve ran a hand though his own hair instead. He met up with Sam and Scott in the doorway of the room that Bucky was in. The new man was eyeing the dead bodies still scattered about with wariness. And Steve didn’t have to wait long before Scott noticed the trapped man behind him.  

Steve frowned when Scott’s face filled with pity. So he stepped forward, drawing Scott’s attention to him, and held out his hand.

“Steve Rogers, heard you could help us out,” Steve said as he shook the new man’s hand.

“Oh, um, Scott Lang, I’ll see what I can do,” Scott replied suddenly looking star-struck.

Bucky didn’t react well when Scott entered the room. The pain from his struggles left the trapped man gasping for breath. It took Scott and Sam leaving the room for Steve to make any progress in calming his friend down.

As Steve reassured Bucky, he could hear Sam and Scott talking in the other room, too soft to hear them clearly.

“We’re going to get you out, pal. I promise,” Steve said gently. He was sitting beside Bucky now with the trapped man leaning against him; he had eventually allowed Steve to stay closer after Steve had needed to hold him up when the trapped man had gone unconscious to keep him from straining where flesh met metal.

Steve had been reminded of the day he had pulled Bucky off Zola’s table in Italy, his friend having been too disoriented to escape alone.

When Sam came back, a small figure was standing in his outstretched hand.

“He shrinks,” the flyer explained as he set Scott on the vise and tossed a comm at Steve.

“Wow,” Steve exclaimed softly as he watched Scott walk about the top of the machine and around Bucky’s trapped arm while its owner remained unaware.

“Thanks, Cap,” replied Scott after Steve put in the comm, “Okay, the clamps on the vise have some weird teeth on them and it looks like even before your friend was trapped, the arm had sustained quite a bit of damage. I’m guessing cutting off the prosthetic isn’t an option?”

“Correct, it’s connected to his nervous system,” Steve replied with a frown.

“Oh, boy, okay, let’s see,” Scott continued muttering to himself and surveying the vise.

Steve watched him carefully and nearly flinched when Scott climbed onto the metal arm and started to inspect it. Bucky shifted his head closer to Steve but otherwise didn’t react. Sam huffed with relief and Steve could only silently agree.

“Scott, I wouldn’t-” cautioned Sam before Scott spoke up.

“I’ll turn off the arm; it will help when freeing your friend.”

“You can do that?” Steve asked, breathless with hope.

“Sure Cap, it’s okay to call you that right?”

“Do it.”

“Oh, um okay. Distraction would be helpful, even though he looks barely conscious.”

Steve nodded before focusing solely on Bucky, stories of their childhood spilling from his lips. He didn’t even pause when he noticed Bucky almost completely relax when the arm was turned off. A soft murmur of thanks that would be just audible enough for Scott and Sam.

Meanwhile Sam and Scott bounced ideas around. He had been so focused that he didn’t notice Sam leave, only to return with a small device in his hand.

“Sam?”

“Found one of Stark’s lasers in the quinjet. We think Scott can cut the clamps at a safe angle if he shrinks it. We think he’ll be able to cut them off while causing little pain. Or at least hopefully.”

“Okay, what do we need to do?”

It took time to cut the clamps with Scott shrunk down but after they were sliced off, it took little time to take the clamps, teeth and all out of the metal arm, with Bucky grunting when it fell heavily to his side, free.

Sam made a sling to secure the metal arm against his chest and when he carefully helped Steve put it on Bucky, Scott jumped onto the flyer’s shoulder from atop the vise.

With a little maneuvering, Steve picked Bucky up with his right arm wrapped around Steve’s neck and shoulders.

“So who was that, by the way?” Scott asked after he shifted back to normal size.

“Um, that’s was Bucky Barnes,” Sam replied as he packed up the duffle.

“Wait… like _the_ Bucky Barnes?!”

“Yeah, it’s a long story. So like a few years ago-” Steve didn’t paid attention after that, concentrating on exiting the abandoned building and Bucky’s condition. Climbing down the fire escape was tricky at first but he managed okay.

Only to falter when he remember the quinjet was in stealth mode and currently invisible. That is until he noticed Clint Barton leaning against open air, carving up an apple with a knife.

“Need a ride?” the archer asked and the quinjet appeared beside him.

Steve chuckled softly, “I didn’t know you were here.”

Clint shrugged, “Lang needed a ride and I was in the area.”

~*~

Day 3, 4:26pm

Hours later, Bucky found himself in a bed in some kind of jet. And for the first time in a few days, he felt clear headed and aware. His metal arm was numb and his pain gone.

Beside him, Steve was sitting in a seat with his head leaning against a head rest. He was asleep. One of his hands rested on Bucky’s real one, just like Bucky used to do when they were kids and Steve had been bed ridden.  

Bucky cringed when he noticed the IV in his arm but just barely fought the urge to rip it out given his bad history with needles. The soldier wasn’t tied up so he figured it was safe.

Up in the cockpit, he could hear people talking but he relaxed when he felt Steve gently squeeze his hand. He hadn’t noticed when the blond had woken up and glanced over at him now. Steve gave him a warm reassuring smile.

“Steve?” he nearly winced at how hoarse his own voice was.

Steve leaned closer, “Yeah?”

“Am I free?” _Am I safe?_

Steve smiled, it was as bright as the sun, just like Bucky could remember, “Yeah, Buck, you are.”

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will also be posted on ff.net.
> 
> Any feedback is appreciated. Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
